I get out of the jeep. In the side-view mirror I can see everyone-including customers-pressed up against the glass. I shake my head and smile. Of course, I expected this kind of reaction from them. They probably haven't stopped talking about Max since I left. As soon as I turn toward the building they scatter. When I get inside, they pretend to be reading magazines or curling hair with cold irons.
5
I have nothing to wear and my apartment is a mess. What if, when he picks me up or drops me off, he asks to come inside. I can't let him see my place like this or he'll think I'm a hoarder. It's mostly the boxes Kia's mom gave me. I decide to put them in the closet for now until I can go through them. It doesn't take long. My nerves about going out with Max tonight give me an adrenaline boost. The last box I grab is labeled clothes.
Kia and I were the same size and we always shared clothes, though her clothes were far more expensive than what I could afford. I was taller, so her skirts and shorts tended to be on the shorter side. One of her regular length dresses on me would turn into a mini. Since I don't own a single thing appropriate for an art gallery, I decide to finally open one of Kia's boxes.
When I see what her mom has given me, I'm both excited and heart-broken. Thousands of dollars' worth of designer labels. All of her favorites, things I coveted for years, are all mine now. I would give every single one of them away if I could have my friend back.
Lifting out a little black Chanel cocktail dress, I fight the tears as I put it up against me and look in the mirror. Then I hug it as if I can still feel her in it.
"Wish me luck, Kia," I say.
I do my hair and makeup first, wearing nude shadow and a bright red lipstick. I pull my hair up to show off the body-hugging backless dress. Then I finish it off with a pair of studded Louis Vuitton's to give the look more of an edge-it's an art show, after all.
Max rings the doorbell right at seven. Checking myself one last time in the mirror, I let out a long breath and open the door.
"Holy … " he says, the word trailing off when he sees me.
He looks pretty amazing himself, wearing black slacks, a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a nice black watch. There's just something about tattooed guys wearing nice watches that really does it for me. It's a weird thing, but it's my thing, and if I weren't so worried about messing up my hair and makeup, I'd drag him inside and tear his clothes off right now.
I didn't realize he was holding onto something until he hands it to me. A gift.
I take the box. What could this be? Opening it, I look up at him and smile. It's an audio book of Pride and Prejudice.
"So you can listen to it on your way to work when you don't have time to read," he says.
Oh my God, he's so thoughtful.
"Thank you so much!"
I throw my arms around him, squeezing him in a tight hug. His hands wander over the bare skin of my back. It tickles yet feels amazing. I'm so turned on right now.
"We should get going," I say.
Before I can't control myself around you anymore.
The top of his jeep is back on as we drive to the gallery, so my hair stays in place. The art gallery is in another trendy part of town with hipster coffee shops and organic food trucks parked along the sidewalks. It's just as I imagined it would be. A little pretentious, a little weird, a lot of people who are either dolled up or look homeless-artsy types. We go inside. It's packed full of people. I'm immediately captivated by the art on display. They're beautiful and so detailed. Most of the paintings have ‘sold' signs in front of them. His friend must be a popular guy. And those prices! Holy shit. Not a single piece of art was sold for under 10k. Who the hell has that kind of money to throw around? All of these people, apparently.
Waiters walk around serving champagne. Max snags us two glasses.
"Does all this art belong to your friend?" I ask him. I don't see a name on any of them. There's a signature in the corner, but without putting my nose right up to it, it's too small to read.
Some of it is tattoo art in water color, some are portraits using acrylic or oils. All different kinds of mediums, but it all has a similar feel to it and looks like it was done by a single artist.
"I wouldn't exactly call us friends, but yep, every one of them. What do you think? You can be honest. I don't really even like the guy."
I walk from painting to painting. He follows silently behind me. I think he wants me to criticize them, but I can't. They're far too beautiful for that.
"They're perfect. I've never seen anything like them before. That detail, I'm … speechless."
"Speechless. Really?"
I hand him my flute of champagne and step closer to a painting of a little boy standing in the rain, reaching out toward a woman who is walking away. Looking at it, I feel a profound sadness. It reminds me of Kia leaving me and suddenly tears are welling up in my eyes and I'm struggling to keep them back. I can feel Max's eyes on me, watching.
"Have you ever looked at something so beautiful it breaks your heart?" I ask.
"Yes," he says.
When I look at him, he's watching me with the strangest look on his face, studying me as if I were part of the exhibit.
He starts to say something, but is interrupted by someone I assume is a reporter based on the name tag, the camera around his neck, and the way he carries himself.
"Are you Max Savage?" the man asks. He's young, maybe early twenties, and has an eager way about him.
"Yes, I am," Max says.
"I'm Jared Fresher with Art Times Magazine. I was hoping to get a few words with you about your exhibit for the cover of next month's feature."
I look at Max, then the reporter, then back at Max. Wait, what? His exhibit?
"Um," Max says, avoiding eye contact with me. "Can we do this tomorrow? You can call me at the shop and we'll set up an appointment." He hands the man a business card he pulls from his pocket.
Once the man is gone I say, "This is your art?"
He shrugs in response.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted your honest opinion."
"Well," I say, hooking my arm in his and pulling him toward the next amazing painting, "my tears should tell you everything you need to know."
His smile lights up the room.
"I love them," I say. "Every single one of them."
"Let's get out of here," he says.
"Already? I didn't get to see them all."
"I'll give you your own private tour this weekend." He leans in, whispering in my ear. "Right now, I need to be alone with you in that dress."
Check please.
On the drive to his loft, he has his hand on my bare leg. His fingers slide up my skirt until his hand is between my legs. He rubs the crotch of my panties. I arch my back and spread my legs to make it easier for him.
I move his hand and lean across the seat, unbuttoning his slacks and pull his hard cock out of his fly and start sucking him. I've always been proud of my dick-sucking abilities because I basically have no gag reflex and can deep throat like a champ. But Max is so large it makes it almost impossible-almost. I manage to get the length of him down my throat. He pets my hair like a good kitty and lets out an appreciative moan.
"Damn, you're good at that," he says in awe.
I dip the tip of my tongue in the opening, run the soft, flat part along the sensitive spot underneath. I make sure to give every bit of it the attention it deserves before bobbing back down with my entire mouth. His body stiffens and I feel the jeep slow a bit as his foot goes lax on the pedal.
"Fuck, I'm going to come," he says, curling his fingers in my hair and giving it a tight squeeze, almost pulling, but not quite.
I continue to suck him despite the warning. He pulls the jeep off to the side of the road. The intensity of his breathing tells me he won't last much longer. One more bob down and he explodes in my mouth. Six long, warm ropes of cum hit the back of my throat and I swallow it down, every salty, silky drop. He's out of breath and it takes him a moment to recover.
Chest heaving, he wipes sweat from his brow and looks at me. He lets out a low chuckle and says, "That was one gold metal blowjob."
I give him the same kind of cocky smile I'm used to him giving me. "Thank you."
"Shit," he says still trying to catch his breath. "Maybe you should drive. My legs are shaking."
We switch places. I like being behind the wheel. I don't know why, but there's a sense of pride knowing that he was too weak in the knees to drive. We get back on the road and head toward his loft. Once we get there, we head up the stairs. His hand rests at the small of my back as we walk, slowly moving down until he's cupping my ass. When we're inside, and the door swings shut behind us, he leads me to his room and lifts the back of my dress up and yanks my panties down quicker than I thought was humanly possible. He bends me over the side of his bed. I pull in a surprised breath when his tongue plunges into me from behind.